


Better Than Any Audiobook

by ahyperactivehero (ahyperactiverhero)



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Flirting, Fluff, M/M, Poetry, Summer Nights, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-08 01:05:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11070837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ahyperactiverhero/pseuds/ahyperactivehero
Summary: The summer heat is going to kill Pete, but at least he gets to listen to the cute boy across the way read poetry each night.





	Better Than Any Audiobook

**Author's Note:**

> This was based on the tumblr prompt sent to me that said something about "summer and sleeping".

Pete thought that he would enjoy his new apartment. It was much larger, a lot less mold, and it was cheaper than his old apartment, plus it was only about a five minute walk away from his job, which was a huge plus seeing as how he usually only woke up about ten minutes before he was supposed to clock in.

There were two things about his apartment that did suck though that he hadn't considered before he moved in, and honestly probably contributed to the heavily reduced price of a Chicago apartment. One, the space between his apartment building and the other apartment building next door were way too close together, allowing him to hear everything that went on far too clearly for his liking. When he'd first moved in about a month ago and viewed the little old lady through the window next to his he worried that he'd bother her by playing music too loudly the way he was known to do.

It was quickly apparent to him that she didn't care about his music, if only for the fact that she was usually having obnoxiously loud sex with someone that sounded like a garbage disposal when he was trying to sleep.

The second thing he realized was the fact that the air conditioning sucked. Or a better term for it was non-existent. The air conditioner literally smelled like a fire any time he tried to use it and insisted on only spitting out hot air in his face. Andy had offered to come over and try to help him look at it, but neither one of them were very good when it came to things like that, so he had little hope for himself.

He'd already turned on two different box fans, stripped down to his boxers, and used a damp towel to wipe himself down but nothing was working. It was as if the entire world around him had already been set on fire and he was just drowning in the leftover heat now.

“Fuck it,” he said, hopping off of his bed. He didn't care if he had to listen to some grandma fuck herself crazy all night, he wasn't going to die of a heat stroke in his own apartment.

He slammed the window up as far as it would go, already enjoying the slight breeze that was making it's way inside. He knew from experience that it wasn't going to be much better, but any little bit was helping him.

He laid back down, praying for sleep to come. Kinky grandma had been quiet so far so he was honestly just hoping that he could fall asleep before she started up again.

“....be on the watch. There are ways out. There is a light somewhere,” a man's voice filtered through Pete's brain, drawing him completely back to the land of the living.

He stared up at his ceiling, waiting for the voice to continue. It was young and smooth, way too young to possibly be the lover of the grandmother next door, or at least he hoped so. His voice, while not particularly deep, was warm in a way that the summer air was not. It was like honey and sugar rather than muggy and swampy like the room around him.

Pete laid there, wide awake, his ears straining to hear anything else the young man might say. He could hear him reading the rest of the poem, something Pete tried to commit to memory to look up later, and moving on to yet another one. Despite the heat, Pete leaned over, clicking the fan off in order to hear the voice better.

Eventually a combination of the heat and the soothing voice lulled Pete into a strange sort of hazy until he managed to catch a few hours of sleep.

Before long it became a force of habit. He'd open his window, lay down for bed, and wait for his late night reading partner to come to bed and read whatever he was reading that night out loud. He'd tried to see who exactly it was each night, but whoever it was kept his curtains over the window, preventing Pete from ever being able to see him.

He wasn't sure when the young man had moved in, but he was thankful for it. Listening to him each night had managed to do wonders for Pete's insomnia and allowed him to fall asleep so much easier each night. Ever since the first night he'd been on the lookout for whoever it might be, but so far he'd been unable to figure out who he was. None of his neighbors he passed by ever seemed to really fit the description Pete had assigned in his head. Surely the young man was attractive. There was no way you could have a voice like that and not be.

“Passing stranger! You do not know how longingly I look upon you. You must be he I was seeking, or she I was seeking,” the man's voice floated through the warm night air. It was as if he were speaking directly to Pete, as if he were trying to tell him that he knew he was listening, like he was telling him he wasn't alone anymore.

The voice continued as Pete sat up, his bed squeaking loud in the still air. He eased over to his window, hoping that this time he might catch a glimpse of the mystery man through the other window.

Instead of smoothly gliding over to the window as he had previously planned, he tripped over his own feet and slammed into the edge of the window with a loud bang.

“Ow, fucking hell!” Pete cussed, slamming his hand on the window sill.

The voice behind the window stopped. Pete held his breath, his heart in his throat.

“Are you okay?” the voice asked.

Pete held his breath, debating what he should do. He'd been listening to this guy read for a few weeks now, here was the moment he had been waiting for and now that it was here he wasn't sure that he was ready for it.

“Hey? Are you okay?” the voice asked again. The sound of a curtain being pulled back came to Pete's ears, and then the room filled with light.

Pete sheepishly stood up, rubbed the back of his neck, and blinked into the light. Two feet away, leaning out of his open window was an adorable, short, blonde guy standing in the light, his hair lit up like a halo from the lamp beside him. His black rimmed glasses caused his face to look even softer and sweeter than Pete imagined possible. He was absolutely adorable.

“Uh, yeah I'm cool,” Pete said, trying to play it off. Part of him wished that the floor would just swallow him whole or that he would finally melt into the puddle he felt like he was going to sweat into this whole time.

The man inspected him, his eyes clearly disbelieving. “Are you sure? It sounded like you about brained yourself on that window or something,” he said.

Pete let out a small laugh at himself. “Uh, no that wasn't me,” Pete said, hoping that his voice was even mildly convincing.

“It wasn't you?” the man in the other window asked. He laughed, his laugh sounding even better than his reading voice “If it wasn't you then who was it?”

“You're probably just hearing things,” Pete said.

The man squinted. “No, the only thing I ever hear this late at night is you snoring up a storm,” he said.

Pete flinched, absolutely mortified. “You've heard me snore?”

The man laughed again. “Well, yeah. Our windows are right next to each other. I've heard you snoring almost every night,” he said.

Pete blushed, hating himself for everything. “Yeah? Well I've heard you reading like every night,” Pete said. 

Despite the low light Pete was pretty sure that he could see a blush also spreading across the man's face. “I figured if it was annoying you, you'd say something,” he said.

“No!” Pete shouted. He flinched away from the sound of his own voice, not actually intending for it to be so loud. “I- I actually like the sound of your voice. Like, reading the poems that is. They're nice and it's good to listen to when I'm trying to go to sleep.”

The man jumped, also startled by Pete's voice. “You... like the sound of my voice?” he asked, surprise coloring his tone.

Pete scratched the back of his head. He'd already embarrassed himself enough that he might as well keep going. “Well, yeah. Shit, dude, you should publish an audiobook or something because I would buy the hell out of that.”

The man tucked his head down, the blush now readily apparent on his face. “I don't know about that,” he said.

“No, really,” Pete said, climbing up onto the window sill. “You're voice is so soothing, dude. What's you name?”

“Patrick,” Patrick said.

“Pete,” Pete said, reaching his hand out over the gap between the windows to shake his hand.

Patrick took his hand and shook it. “So you really did like my voice?”

Pete nodded his head. “Yeah, dude. Like I said, I'd totally buy an audiobook of you talking. You're one of the only things that have been helping me to sleep at night.”

Patrick turned his head to get a better glimpse at Pete in the light. “Or, we could keep doing this. Me, reading poetry each night, you snoring up a storm in the building next door. A lot cheaper for you that way. After all, I'm pretty expensive, I doubt you could afford me,” he teased.

“Or,” Pete said, trying to lean casually against the window frame, “we could be in the same room so you wouldn't have to read across the gap like this.”

A smile formed on Patrick's face. It was small and shy and Pete loved it instantly.

“What, and have to sit in the same room as your snoring?” His smile spread even wider across his face. “I think I'll stay over here for now. Besides, I'm expensive remember? And you haven't even bought me dinner yet.”

Pete returned his smile with a smirk. “I could definitely solve that. Tomorrow night?”

“It's a date.”

**Author's Note:**

> The first poem Patrick is reading is "The Laughing Heart" by Charles Bukowski which is literally my favorite poem ever. The second one is "To a Stranger" by Walt Whitman.


End file.
